


Box

by snapeslittleblackbuttons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Fic, Explicit Language, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-05 20:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10316672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snapeslittleblackbuttons/pseuds/snapeslittleblackbuttons
Summary: Severus Snape opens his eyes and discovers he is inside a wooden box. Written for the Quills & Parchment 2017 "Not Quite Human" Comp. WINNER: Overall Winner and Judges' Favorite; RUNNER UP: Most Unique Origin Story and Best Drama. Rated M for language. Creature Fic.





	

**Author's Note:**

> All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.

**Prologue: Darkness**

 

Were his eyes open?

Perhaps.

The darkness was so complete, he wasn’t certain: he could sense no change in what he saw whether they were open or they weren’t.

He stretched his eyelids upward and left them there, even though he couldn’t discern a thing within the black.

It was cold.

No, not simply _cold_. It was frigid. Bitter. Raw. The piercing, numbing cold saturated him to the marrow.

_How long…?_

It didn’t matter. He’d prepared. He knew, he _knew_ it would be like this.

Well, he’d _imagined_ it would be, anyway.

He took the deepest breath he was able, and detected the scent of elm.

Apparently, he was encased in a wooden box.

The wood seemed mere inches from his nose and although it wasn’t actually touching his face, the weight of it pressed in on him nonetheless, infusing a desperate, new panic into his chest.

He slammed his eyes shut and took a calming breath, forcing the woodsy smell into his lungs, hoping the aroma would speak comfort instead of hysteria.

He managed.

Just barely.

* * *

 

**Six Months Earlier**

 

“You requested to see me, Headmaster?”

Yes, he’d summoned her, and the hands parked at Minerva’s hips—coupled with lips that were thinned-to-white—told him exactly what she thought of _that_. No matter that she knew he was a spy for the Order, the old bint still insisted on treating him like an enemy, even behind closed doors.

Perhaps _especially_ behind closed doors.

Suppressing a sigh, Severus indicated a chair directly in front of his desk. The Transfiguration professor lowered herself onto it amongst a flutter of robes, sitting stiffly and slightly raising an eyebrow in inquiry. She didn’t say a word.

“I’ve called you here to discuss the arrangements for my funeral.”

“Never one to mince words, are you, _Headmaster_?”

He just barely kept his eyes from rolling. There was no need to keep up the titles here, now; she was making her point, yet again, that he had no business wearing that honorific.

_Fine._

“I suppose, _Professor_ ,” he said as snidely as he was able.  

Merlin, he was tired. If Minerva’s churlish attitude could get under his skin, he should have put off the meeting with her at least until tomorrow.

The problem was that he was unsure just how many tomorrows he had left.

Severus opened the top drawer in the heavy desk—Dumbledore’s desk—and located the parchment he’d copied out the day before. Merlin, he _hated_ that desk, but he never thought he’d be headmaster long enough to warrant refurnishing the room. Perhaps he’d been wrong. Perhaps he should have blasted the thing out of existence the very night the old man died.

And perhaps he was thinking far too much.

Extracting the document he needed, he held it out for Minerva—just out of her reach, forcing her to lean forward in her chair to take it. Her eyes narrowed and Severus fought the urge to smirk.

It was the little things. It was all he had left to amuse him.

How pathetic had he become if his greatest amusement was watching Minerva attempt to grab a parchment while trying to keep her back straight? _Who’s being childish now?_

“This is a copy of my Last Will and Testament, which includes specific instructions for my funeral.” He allowed his lips to curl into a sneer as she finally got hold of it. “This is a copy of a document I had given to Dumbledore...”

Minerva’s eyes flashed, but he saw her quickly suppress the anger that surfaced like a piranha threatening to bite.

Mentioning Dumbledore had been a mistake. Better not to taunt the woman. He needed Minerva. He needed her more now than he ever had.

She kept her eyes trained on him, never once glancing at the parchment in her hand, as if she wasn’t the least bit curious.

As if he would reveal any more than he needed to.

“Minerva, I have never asked anything of you, nor anything of the Order. But I ask you to follow this to the letter, as some small compensation for what I’ve done.”

“Payment for what you’ve done will come to you, no doubt,” she muttered under her breath, still loud enough for him to hear.

Severus wasn’t sure he disagreed with her.

She finally glanced down at the document in her hand, her eyeglasses slipping down her nose.

Was the woman seated in front of him as loyal as he had been these last, countless days? Would she do the simple things laid out before her, without question? Would she even suspect that they mattered so dearly?

“It’s important,” he said, catching her eye.

“I understand,” Minerva replied stiffly, folding the parchment and placing it in the pocket of her robes. “Will that be all, Headmaster?”

Severus didn’t know if her _understanding_ heralded agreement or not, but he left it at that. If she didn’t follow the instructions precisely, and he’d managed to avoid what he needed to, he’d make do.

Assuming there was anything left of him.

* * *

 

**Part 1: Gift**

 

Severus suppressed the memory of Minerva pursing her lips in the Headmaster’s office, and focused again on the matter at hand: escaping the wooden box.

Apparently, his right hand had been poised in an approximation of a fist surrounding his wand; his left arm had been positioned next to him, straight down along the side of his body.

So, he was holding his wand. Well, at least the old bint got that part right.

He tried moving his fingers. They resisted stretching: they felt swollen but dry—a decidedly odd combination, and not at all what he had imagined they would feel like here, now.

Not that he had permitted himself such fantasies very often.

How long had he been encased in elm? The frigid air suggested it was no longer May, but there was simply no way to tell. He knew the time he’d spent here would be commensurate with the damage he’d endured. Truly, it didn’t matter. What _did_ matter was trying to get his body to remember how to _move_.

He began to spread his fingers. As they released, the tendons cracked like desiccated elastic; his fingers stuttered and resisted, sinew popping under the strain of new expansion. He tried to wiggle his toes; imprisoned in his standard dragon hide boots, they couldn’t progress very far.

He sighed. He hadn’t considered that.

When his ankle finally responded, Severus arched his foot outward, and it grazed the sides of the elm that encased him.

Well, Minerva had failed in at least one respect: his fucking prison was far too small. He could barely move.

The effort of flexing fingers and toes exhausted him. As he allowed himself to rest for a moment, he was reminded of another time when he was stiff from being stationary overly long.

* * *

 

**Two Years Earlier**

 

“My Lord.” Severus bent to a knee and trained his gaze at the priceless Persian at his feet. He wondered idly how long the Dark Lord would keep him in this particular position. The last time his presence was requested, he spent a far bit of time staring at this very carpet beneath him, while his master delighted in discovering just how long his devoted servant would be able to remain motionless.

He unfocused his eyes, even as he kept his mind sharp. Patterns swam in front of him; the colours in the Persian floated and coalesced, fused, parted, and slipped back into the design as if they were cavorting in some unnamed, forbidden dance.

Narcissa had likely paid as much for the wool under his boots as both his parents had earned in a year combined.

“You may approach me, Severus.”

Although he hadn’t been stationary as long as the last time he’d been summoned, Severus struggled to move muscles that had locked in place while he knelt. Merlin, he was too old for this shite.

“My Lord. I am here to serve.”

“I have something for you. A gift.”

“I am not deserving, my Lord.”

“True. But I wish to bestow it, nonetheless.” Voldemort turned and floated toward the fireplace, his bare feet barely gracing the costly wool.

“My Lord?”

“When you pledged your loyalty to me, you received the Mark, visible to all the world.” Voldemort stretched a claw-like hand to rest on top of a chair. “But there are other… _gifts_ I bestow on those dearest to me that are not normally visible. They are entrusted only to those whom I have no doubt of their loyalty. I have searched you, Severus. I have sifted through your mind, and I find no fault within you.”

It was encouraging to know that his Occulmency shields held up under stress. What concerned Severus, however, was that he didn’t even know he’d been under such profound scrutiny.

“I am honoured, My Lord.”

The Dark Lord was silent for a moment.

“Would you like to be nearly untouchable?”

“I am satisfied with whatever you wish for me, My Lord.”

“Ever the devoted servant,” his master mused.

The Dark Lord turned to a closed door at the other end of the room and uttered something in Parseltongue. A woman of indeterminable age, with long, dark hair, stepped through the threshold and placed herself at the Dark Lord’s side, folding herself onto the floor at his feet. She looked up at him adoringly.

“I believe you have already met my Nagini.”

Severus inclined his head at the woman lounging on the rug.

“You have questions.”

“My Lord. I am pleased with whatever you deem me worthy to hear.”

The Dark Lord seemed to smile at that.

“You have known Nagini for years, of course. What you did not know is that Nagini is an Animagus.” He reached down to pet her hair. “This surprises you, no?”

Severus didn’t answer, allowing the Dark Lord to gloat in the knowledge that he knew something Severus did not.

“Nagini only changes into human form when I command her to do so. But there is something else that you do not know. Something you would never have guessed.” Voldemort seemed to relish the moment just before his revelation. “Nagini is, for all intents, immortal.”

Severus inclined his head and left it there. Words evaporated on his tongue.

“You may ask questions.”

“How did she become so, My Lord?”

“Ah, my dear Severus, that is precisely why I have called you to me.” Nagini turned her face toward Severus, and for the first time, he noticed her pupils were red, like the Dark Lord’s. “Nagini is also a vampire.”

Severus tried to keep his eyes from widening, and was fairly certain he’d failed. If he had predicted what the conversation with his master would have been about, it wasn’t this.

“Forgive me, My Lord, have you also done this?”

“I have found other, more… _rewarding_ ways to ensure my immortality. However, I want my most loyal servants to share in a chance for it.”

“A chance, My Lord?”

“Yes. Should you become like Nagini, you will have a _chance_ for immortality. When you die as a vampire, your body rebuilds until it is strong enough for you to wake. But you do wake—with one exception. Should you die by Avada, death is permanent, since the soul is immediately separated from the body and sent to the Veil.”

An eternity of opportunities to repay the Dark Lord in kind for what he did to Lily? Coupled with a way out should life become no longer desirable? Or bearable? Perhaps Albus…

“My Lord, I am honoured that you would consider me to serve for an eternity at your side.”

“So, you accept?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

And without warning, Nagini morphed into her usual form and wound her way toward him, fangs already bared.

* * *

 

**Part 2: Denial**

 

Severus shuddered at the memory of his change at Malfoy Manor: the snake, the blood, the cold that seeped into his body as it fought and writhed and finally accepted her venom.

It was not unlike another night—the one that had secured him his current berth.

He quelled the thought: he didn’t need a reminder of either. What he needed was to get the hell out of this box.

The weight of his frock coat pressed in on him, making it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t thought the fabric would matter, but it did. Even _if_ he had thought of it, perhaps the end of the war would have made it too inconvenient for Minerva to retrieve a different coat. Minerva—

Perhaps she hadn’t even survived.

He knew the old man hadn’t.

* * *

 

**One Year Earlier**

 

The evening breeze flirted with the hem of Severus’s robes as he gazed out into the dark Hogwarts grounds from the Astronomy Tower. The vaulted balcony was one of his best refuges; he had come here for years to contemplate, to heal, and mostly, to be alone.

He’d spent endless hours pining for Lily here; it was the place where he had kissed her for the first time, and the place where he spent countless hours trying to forget her, aided by more cigarettes than he cared to recall.

Tonight, he was here to convince an old man not to choose death.

Severus felt—rather than saw—the old man in question arrive.

“Albus,” he said in greeting, without turning from his view of the stone bridge.

“Severus.” He hobbled up to the railing at Severus’s side. “How are you this fine evening?”

“You don’t have to die.”

“Someday, my boy, you will discover the joy in everyday pleasantries.”

Severus huffed a laugh and indicated the Headmaster’s withered arm with a nod. “And someday soon, the curse in your hand will kill you if nothing else is done.”

“You asked to see me. What is it that you wish to discuss?”

“The Dark Lord has found a way for his followers to become immortal.”

He saw Albus stiffen. Surely the Headmaster didn’t already know about the Dark Lord’s inner circle?

“We missed it, Albus. _I_ missed it. Nagini is not only a snake.”

Severus felt the old man reinforce his Occlumency shields. Merlin, what was he trying to hide?

“Nagini is a witch, and more specifically, an Animagus.” Severus locked eyes with the Headmaster’s. “Nagini is also a vampire.”

Severus detected a strange mix of relief and surprise in the wizard’s stare. _Curious_.

“Vampires can only die—“

“When hit with the Avada curse.” The Headmaster turned his attention to the grounds, visibly relaxing. “Yes, yes. Has Tom also become one?”

“No. He said that he has employed a more satisfying way to become immortal.”

The Headmaster kept his gaze on the dark grass below them. “Of that, I have no doubt,” he said, with a small, sad smile.

“Albus?”

The Headmaster didn’t say anything for a moment.

“Have all of the Death Eaters become vampires?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“No.”

“Just a chosen few, then.”

“Yes.”

The Headmaster turned to lock eyes with him. “You were never especially good at glamours, Severus.”

So, the spell covering his red pupils had not held under the scrutiny of one Albus Dumbledore.

“This is concerning. Rumor suggests that vampires share a connection with their creator. Can you sense Tom’s thoughts through Nagini? Can he sense yours?”

Something about Albus’s question unnerved Severus.

“I can feel his presence, but it is as it was before—through the Mark. I feel Nagini now, but it is a tenuous connection, and I am able to prevent any specific intrusion by her with my standard Occlumency shields. There is no danger.”

“The Dark Lord did not change me,” he continued. “Nagini did. Why would you think he might be able to read my thoughts through Nagini? What are you not telling me, Albus?”

Unsurprisingly, the Headmaster said nothing.

Severus allowed himself a frustrated sigh. “Let me spell it out for you. I’m saying that you can also become a vampire. I’m saying that you do not have to die.”

“All of us must die, my boy.”

_“I’m saying that I would not have to kill you!”_

Brush of cold air moved between them as the old fool turned away and started to walk back to the stairway.

“Severus. I have no desire to become what you have become.”

Severus huffed a bitter laugh at that. 

“You must consider it. The curse would no longer take your life. You would be strong again. You would be able to defeat the Dark Lord—”

“No. You are forgetting the prophecy. It must be left up to the boy.”

“And you are forgetting that I have no desire to kill you!”

“It must be so.”

Severus dragged his hand down his face. “He is not up to the task. You know this, Albus,” he said wearily.

The wind played with the old man’s beard and the tassel hanging from his hat. Severus could just make out his blue eyes in the fading light of the evening.

“You’re wrong about Harry, Severus. You must be wrong, or otherwise all is surely lost.”

* * *

 

**Part 3: Payment**

 

Maybe Severus _had_ been wrong, and the boy _had_ defeated the Dark Lord, but that had yet to be confirmed. It certainly _felt_ that way, but he would probe more pointedly once he was free of this blasted box.

He allowed himself a sigh. It occurred to him that Minerva had fashioned his eternal repose into a mimicry of a medieval knight holding a sword against his chest, pointed upward, toward his face; instead of a sword, Severus was holding a wand.

_Merlin, what on earth had she been thinking?_

As he stretched the fingers of his right hand—those encircling his wand—it rolled left. Unable yet to entirely control his fingers, he couldn’t catch it before it dropped hollowly down his side and nestled up against the arm of his frock coat.

 _Accio_ , he thought.

Nothing came.

He fought a wave of hysteria.

Superb. How long would he be trapped here, right next to his wand, but too weak to summon it to his hand?

He tried to reach across his body to grasp it, but there wasn’t enough room to fit his arm between his chest and the top of the box. There was simply not enough space. The top of his prison was several inches too close, even with his lean frame.

 _Fuck_.

Here he was, gifted with near-immortality by a dark lord, and he would be trapped for all time, inches from his wand, unable to cast a wordless.

If only he were strong enough to Apparate.

Clawing panic bloomed in his chest; the paltry amount of wool in his frock coat, far too thin under his spine, provided little comfort as he forced himself to take deep, calming breaths of the stale air.

Once again, he could not curb the memory of another night, lying with unforgiving wood at his back, splinters invading his skin as he thrashed, unable to cry out while his blood soaked the boards beneath him.

* * *

 

**One Week Earlier**

 

He could see in the red pupils of her eyes that the Animagus was enjoying the task she had been given.

The Dark Lord backed away as Nagini approached, her purpose this time not to bestow a gift, but to rip him open. Merlin, even if he had been given immortality by her first bite, he didn’t want to suffer _this_.

Some part of his mind savored the irony that he would experience his first death at the hand of the creature that had made him immortal.

And another part of his mind still didn’t completely trust that he would heal and live again.

It was clear now: _this_ was why his master didn’t mind disposing his closest followers with such casual nonchalance. Unless he killed them with an Avada, they didn’t actually stay dead.

His decision for immortality had rendered him… _temporarily disposable_.

So, he’d have to endure death so his master could manipulate a wand’s ownership. Not just any wand, to be sure. But a wand, nonetheless.

He had laid there on the wood after her bite, helpless, abandoned, and unable to move as his final minutes ticked away, as all his blood seeped out of him…all for a wand.

 

As the memory faded, fury ripped through him.

Severus captured the blunt, bright anger, and twisted it into his voice.

 _“Accio_ wand,” he rasped. His wand grazed his upper arm and the top of the box, then nestled into his waiting hand. He angled it down, pointing it toward a corner at his feet—his wrist screaming in protest—and pulled his boots to the other side of his prison.

_“Reducto.”_

A hole erupted in his casket; a breeze flooded in, chasing out the close air and replacing it with the clean, sweet, and fragrant aroma of the Hogwarts grounds. For the first time in his life, a gentle ripple of oxygen made him want to weep in gratitude.

Air.

Yes, he no longer _required_ air.

Yet it was still a beautiful gift.

* * *

 

**Epilogue: Flight**

 

Now that his panic had vanished—now that he could see that the darkness streaming through the hole in the elm had a gentler quality than the black within the rest of his tomb—he stilled himself and focused.

On finding Nagini.

He reached out, and the echo returned empty.

She was gone.

Next, he reached out, searching, probing deliberately for his master.

And there was nothing.

No connection to the hatred that had pulsed.

Not even a reflection of the Dark Lord’s evil taint.

Nothing.

Relief enveloped him.

Severus slid out of his coffin, and crawled into the damp.

After a moment, he found the strength to stand, and the grounds of Hogwarts stilled around him, in silent deference to the risen spy and former servant of the Dark Lord.

He spun into the night air.

To find _her_.


End file.
